


When Bobby's house is home

by SheyRicci



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't like to see Dean suffer,or be the cause of it, but he'll do what he has to because he can't face his own fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Bobby's house is home

What else, Sam thought tossing a towel aside, the last of the bathroom finally cleaned, what the hell else could he be expected to deal with today? He'd left the cleaning until daylight, having decided a couple of hours of sleep was more important than a spit-shine bathroom floor but no amount of sleep made the job more fun.

The day hadn't started out well, the heat in the motel room stayed steady at 60 degrees no matter how high he raised the thermostat. The car had refused to start, delaying the much-needed trip to the Laundromat and grocery store, and Sam couldn't figure out what its problem was this time. The TV had four viewable - crappy - stations, he had nothing with him to read other than a local newspaper, of which he'd completed both the Sudoku and crossword puzzles and now, the Wi-Fi connection, his last source of amusement, was out.

"Great." Sam muttered, he could and would walk to the store, but there was no way he was lugging the bags of laundry to the Laundromat without the car. "Fuck me."

"Thought you were going out." Dean muttered sleepily. Sam shredded a paper towel in silent frustration. Couldn't his brother for once, just sleep? Couldn't that much go right for him this morning?

"Thought you were going to sleep?"

"Tryin' but you keep pacing around…what's up with you anyway?" he rolled onto his back with a yawn.

"You feeling any better?" Sam asked more for something to say then because he needed to know. He could tell just by looking at the man lying in bed that he wasn't feeling any better than he had been before.

"Define better." he sat up, wincing, a hand pressing against his right side. "Mmm, ow," he hissed sliding to the edge of the bed and swinging his feet to the floor.

"You goin' somewhere?" Sam asked. "You should stay in bed."

"Bathroom." he stood up. "And I'm going right back." he tried to raise his right arm over his head. "Little tight with the stitches, dude."

"Let me see." Sam moved over to stand next to his brother. He didn't like having to stitch his brother, would rather Dean set his own stitches, but Dean had been woozy and bleeding heavily so Sam had done it for him. Dean, not being fond of needles, didn't keep still and it had been late and Sam was cold and tired - it was entirely possible that he had stitched the wound on Dean's right side a bit tight. Dean pulled up his t-shirt without thought, letting Sam poke and pull against the stitches.

Sam was pretty sure there was no internal damage, so the pain should be minimal. It'd been more of a flesh wound than a stab wound and he wouldn't have bothered with stitches except the wound had bled heavily for far too long. Dean's attention was on his pressing need to relieve his bladder so he didn't see Sam frown or thumb a bruise that led from the bottom of the stitched wound towards his belly button. The stitches were fine, not pulling or stretched by being uneven. Damn good job he'd done, Dean was not an easy patient at any time. The bathroom was small and cramped, the light shadowed over the sink; Sam was impressed he'd managed to do such a decent job.

"That hurt?" Sam asked, rubbing this thumb, applying slight pressure along the row of stitches. Dean hadn't flinched or uttered his usual symphony of ow's, so he doubted it.

"Does what hurt? Sam, I really gotta pee. How many anyway?" he pulled away, letting his shirt drop.

"How many what? Long as you're up, do you think you could look at the car?"

"Why's'it so cold in here? What's wrong with the car?"

"I think they set the thermostat, the one in here is useless. And your damn car hates me, it won't start."

"Huh, sure, let me piss and I'll go out." he went into the bathroom. "How many stitches?" he called out.

"Eleven. Looked clean, musta been a sharp knife."

"Hell, I dunno, bled like a bitch, though."

"Yeah, I know." he shuddered. "Bled all over the freakin' bathroom, left it 'til this morning to clean up."

"Oh, yeah, sorry, um…thanks for the sew job and the clean-up, I know how you hate to stitch me up."

"I don't hate helping you Dean, I hate hurting you and if you lay eyes on a needle, you won't lie still, you jerk and I tense and it makes it all the harder to sew." Dean hadn't grown up leery of needles and to this day Sam had no idea why he now was, he just knew when it had started. Dean had been the one to do all the stitching on their father and Sam while growing up and hunting as a family. But now? Nowadays he didn't even want to touch a needle.

"Yeah, yeah, all my fault, I know." he pulled on a pair of jeans, a shirt and his boots and headed out to look at the car. Sam soon heard the Impala's engine growl to life. He cursed; damn car purred for Dean and sputtered for him.

"You're good." Dean came back in. "Loose wire."

"Gimme those jeans and shirt, you want anything from the store?" Sam collected all the laundry he could find. "You got any money?"

"Gimme a day and I'll go with you."

"You get some rest, I want to get on the road." he paused as a thought occurred to him. "You got any clean clothes?"

"No, those were my last, can leave 'em, why?"

"Cause if the car thumbs its nose at me again, I'll need you to come get it." he lied with a shrug of his shoulder, Dean wasn't to attentive and didn't catch the lie for what it was.

"Aaah, she'll be fine, you're good." he handed Sam his wallet. "Take what you need. I don't need anything, need me, call me. Oh, and Sam, try sweet-talking her, cursing at her doesn't work."

Sam snatched the shirt away from Dean and snapped it at him. "Get some sleep, you look like shit."

Sam went off to spend his day doing laundry; least the Laundromat had working Wi-Fi and heat. He hoped Dean would at least stay in bed and watch TV. He hadn't taken all his clothes because he needed to make full loads of laundry nor was he worried the car would leave him stranded. Leaving Dean in only his underwear in a cold motel room meant he'd have to stay wrapped up in blankets and should he decide he was hungry and had to have a burger, he'd be unable to leave the motel room without clothes. Maybe he'd actually stay in bed and sleep.

Sam fed coins into the dryer and sat down, a blood-stained t-shirt in his hands He took a moment to ponder whether the amount of blood he'd spent over an hour cleaning from the bathroom floor, walls, toilet, sink and tub was something he should worry about. Naw, Dean had slept good for several hours, had woken without much pain and had been clear-headed. He'd been able to get up and walk on his own and hadn't asked for anything to help with any pain he might be feeling. All was good. Sam tossed the t-shirt into the trash, far as he was concerned, this hunt was done and over, on to the next one.

***000***

Dean woke up groggy and with a headache. He didn't bother to move, what was the point? He was in bed, safe in a motel room, and protected by Sam. He might be alone, but he wasn't in any danger. His eyes blinked open and came into focus but all he saw was a wall. He was laying on his right side, odd, because he expected that to hurt but there was no pain. He could feel the pressure against the stitches but it wasn't uncomfortable so why were his eyes burning and why did he have to bite his lip to keep his jaw from quivering? He was warm and he realized he was wearing a thermal shirt, covered up to his ears in the blankets.

Huh.

He'd crawled into bed because the room had been cold and the bed had been his only source of warmth. He hadn't been dressed at the time. He didn't remember getting up and pulling on a shirt, weirder yet, Sam had taken all his clothes to the Laundromat, hadn't he? Letting his eyes close, he took a moment to let self-pity surface. He was so tired of never feeling good, of always being in some kind of pain, of never being able to make it through one day without pain relief. He wanted a break, wanted to take a week and forget what lay ahead for him. Just once, he wanted to put himself first and the world be-damned.

He was tired of being alone, tired of making decisions everyone was against, tired of being told no, of being told what he thought was right, was wrong. Everyone in his life at some point in the last few months or so had told him, straight to his face, that he was wrong for one reason or another. Bobby, Cas, Lisa, Ben, Rufus, Balty, Samuel, Gwen, hell even the demons, Crowley and Meg had called him out. And Sam? Well, Sam was determined to do what he felt he needed to do, fuck Dean's feelings and concerns.

He eased over with a weary sigh. Thinking himself alone he didn't bother to mask the fact he had let his guard down. He rubbed his eyes, was thinking about getting up and taking a hot shower when he became aware he wasn't alone. He heard a movement, a soft whisper from across the room that was responding to his motion and he jerked upright, hand clutching his knife as he rolled to his knees, gaining a defensive stance on the bed.

"Hey, didn't know you were awake." sprawled in a chair across the room reading a book, Sam look over then tossed the book aside as he swung his feet off the table to the floor and sat up. "Relax, geesch." he'd known the instant Dean had rolled over that he'd thought he was alone. Sam did that sometimes, sat quietly and watched while Dean slept; it was the only time he got to see how Dean was dealing emotionally. "Guess you're doing ok." he commented, noting Dean was alert and able to move without pain.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean let his breath out and flopped down on his back. Sam went over and took the knife from his hand, setting it on the table between the beds. He sat down on his own bed, facing Dean who rubbed sleep from his face, looking up when he realized Sam just sat and watched him. "What?"

"Just reading. Slept pretty good, you were out when I got back. You hungry?"

"No." he turned his head to look at the clock. Little after six, he'd managed to sleep all day. He'd thought Sam would be out, either researching at a library, tracking down some lead or another for Bobby or at least enjoying a rare free day to himself. He was surprised to find him at the motel. "Why're you here?" he yawned. "Ugh!"

Sam gave him a look that Dean swore revealed a hint of hurt. "Laundry's done, went shopping, went to the library, Wi-Fi here is out, so bought some used books to read. Thought I'd see if you wanted anything for dinner before I went out. How you feeling anyway?"

"No, nothing, maybe some aspirin though."

"Aspirin? For what? I don't think so, not with the way you were bleeding last night."

"Advil then, just a headache."

"Yeah, sure, ibuprofen's so much better than aspirin." Sam snorted. "How about you eat something, meet me half way here Dean, yeah, you're ok, but still…how about some chicken? There's a KFC right across the street, I'll bring it back."

"I'm ok, go out and eat, find something to do."

Sam moved away, pulling on his jacket, shoulders tense and Dean watched him shrug into the coat. "I'm staying in, not much to do around here. I'll be right back."

*** two weeks later ***

"Hello?" Bobby picked up his house phone. It was late, going on one a.m., he really should get caller id for the line. No one ever called him on it and when someone did, it was never good news.

"Hey Bobby." the voice was tired, muffled but still recognizable.

"Sam? What the hell you doing calling this late on this line?"

"What line? I dunno, it's not that late, is it? What, ten or so, right?"

"It's after one Sam, and I was in bed, like a normal person, what do you want?"

"Just wondering if we can come, um...well, come crash for a while?"

"Since when do you need to ask?" even as he said it, Bobby knew something was wrong. Dean would just come home, he wouldn't call first, wouldn't ask for permission. He would just drive in, park the car under the port in the back, let himself into the house and crash in the room he now claimed as his. "Sam?" part of Bobby felt warm that Sam was calling, another part alarmed. "Sam?"

"What? Sorry Bobby, just tired I guess, I didn't realize the time, been driving for a while, thought my watch said ten, not one." he sounded like talking was an effort he struggled to make.

"Where are you?" Bobby asked calmly, no since getting upset on the phone, wouldn't do any good.

"Couple hours out, was gonna get a motel after leaving the hospital, but thought I was closer to you than I am…..gues not." Sam trailed off. "Didn't realize I was this far away…"

"Wait, wait, wait a damn minute, hospital? What hospital? Sam, what the hell's going on? I haven't heard from either of you in days. Where's Dean? Are you driving? You asked if you can come crash and you're driving…." his voice rose in irritation despite his effort to keep an even tone. A disoriented Sam was cause for alarm and alarm was fast beating calm for dominance.

"Yeah, um…sor-sorry, Dean's asleep."

"Are you coming in tonight?" Bobby asked. "Is he with you?"

Sam was quiet for so long, Bobby thought he'd lost the call.

"Gonna try." Sam spoke finally. "He's here, where would I leave him?"

"Oh, for kicks, let's say, the hospital you just left?" Bobby spit out sarcastically. He heard Sam suck his breath in then lapse back into silence. "Sam, sorry, sorry, I know you would never leave him, not willingly anyway, now, are you coming in tonight?"

"If I can, will try, but…. I didn't realize it was so late, and ….."

"Can Dean help you drive?" Bobby waited, he already knew Dean was down, either hurt or sick or he would have been the one on the phone talking. He also knew Sam wouldn't have taken Dean to a hospital for anything less than impending death. He wanted answers but it appeared it would be dawn before he got any, and that was only if Sam drove through the night to get there. "Sam, I want you to get here in one piece. If you aren't up to making the drive, either pull over and sleep in the car or get a motel." he paused, trying to make a decision he knew could backfire on him. "Are you bringing Dean with you?"

"Let me go." Sam hung up and tossed the cell into the passenger seat. He doubted Bobby would call back, but he wasn't going to answer it if he did. He risked a glance over his shoulder; Dean slept on the backseat. He'd been quiet since leaving the hospital but that didn't mean he was feeling any better.

"Dammit." Bobby flung his phone; it smacked the wall and hit the floor in pieces. All he could do now was wait; fret, pace and wait. He didn't even know when to expect Sam, could be hours, could be days, and could be never.

Knowing sleep wouldn't be coming at all that night, he went and made up the rooms on the 2nd floor the brothers occupied when staying. He worked himself into a frenzy with the thoughts of what might have happened. It seemed they came more often and stayed longer this past year than they ever had. And more often than not, it was because one or the other was not ok.

Bobby didn't mind, he liked having them at the house, would rather have them under foot where he could keep an eye on them and help them out when they would let him then to have them out doing god knows what where he didn't know what the hell they were up to.

He was dozing in his well-worn recliner when he heard Impala's engine. He glanced at his clock, going on five, he sat and listened as the car drove across his lot and up to his back door and went into idle. When it didn't shut down, he went to the back door to greet Sam.

"Sam?" he let the relief cross his face. "Bout time you got here, cudda called and let me know you were still on your way." he went down the back steps as Sam opened the back passenger door and dragged a protesting Dean from the backseat by one ankle. "Need a hand?" Dean hit the ground ass first before he roused enough to kick away from Sam and gain his feet, holding to the door.

"He's ok." Sam gave Dean a shove towards Bobby. "I'll pull the car in the port, get him inside."

"Ow! Sam, come on!" Dean stumbled, groping for Bobby to gain his balance.

"I've got you, come on." Bobby let Dean grab hold and led him into the house where he let him go when he headed towards the sofa. Bobby went into the kitchen, put coffee on and started breakfast. When he popped his head around the door, Dean was asleep on the couch. By the time Sam came in, carrying both duffel bags, coffee was ready and toast, scrambled eggs and bacon were on a plate at the table.

"Sit." Bobby ordered. "You don't have to talk to me, not yet, but you're gonna eat, have some coffee and then take a hot shower and go to bed. First, is there anything I need to know?" dark circles under Sam's bloodshot eyes identified his exhaustion. Bobby wondered when he'd last seen a bed and had some sleep.

Sam shook his head, sitting at the table and reaching for milk to add to his coffee. "Just let him sleep, he's ok, Bobby. He took a knife a couple of weeks back, lost some blood, neither of us thought it was anything serious." he rubbed his eyes. "I stitched him up, little pain, no infection, no problem, but, couple days later, he's tired and weak, always dizzy, he'd get up in the morning and hit the floor, would pass out in the shower, couldn't hold his liquor, wasn't hungry…."

"You stitched him up? Sam, you hate sewing him. I know you will, but I know you don't like to, how come he couldn't do it himself?"

"He was bleeding pretty heavily, wasn't in any condition to do it, besides, he hasn't….done that since…" Sam sighed. "Other option was the ER."

"What stabbed him? Were you on a job? Did you actually see it happen?"

"Clean knife, sharp, not dull, no rust or dirt, clean cut, not deep, no muscle or tendon damage, no internal damage, he was barely in any pain. All he said was I stitched to tight, but I didn't. Yeah, ok, it was late, I was tired and I kept him on the bathroom floor, tile is easier to clean than paying for new carpet and a mattress, and ok, the space was cramped and not all that well-lit, but Bobby, those stitches were even and set fine. They never pulled loose, he never bled through them, and they never got infected. We just went on to the next hunt."

"When was this?"

"'Bout two weeks ago."

"So, the stitches are out?"

Sam nodded. "Ass pulled them out himself."

"So, care to explain the trip to the hospital?" Bobby felt his way through the conversation. He hadn't expected to find Sam so forthcoming this soon. He didn't want to say or do anything to piss Sam off and have him go silent. That happened a lot these days. Sam was actually sitting calmly at the table, eating the breakfast Bobby had made and willingly telling Bobby what had happened. Bobby just hoped he could get through both the meal and conversation and get the answers he sought.

"I dunno, I can ignore a lot of his moods, but Bobby, when he refuses a beer, and a shot of whiskey makes him sick, I gotta admit something's wrong." Sam reached for more bacon; Bobby shoved the platter closer, happy to see him eat. "He passed out on me in the middle of the day at lunch. We got up to leave and he went down. That was it, I'd had enough. Up 'til then, he was only dizzy in the morning when he was first getting up or if he got up too fast. I gave him two weeks to get over it, he didn't. So I took him to the ER. Seems he lost more blood than we thought. Two weeks after the initial blood loss and the doctor reamed me out. His blood pressure was so low they insisted on admitting him. But Bobby, I swear he didn't lose as much blood as they claim he did."

"So, internal bleeding?

"It's what I thought with him so dizzy and nearly passing out on me when he stood up, but there were no other signs, he didn't vomit blood and he swore to me he wasn't pissing it. There was a bruise along the stitches but it didn't hurt him and he didn't bruise anywhere else. Still, the thought helped me make up my mind to take him in."

"Do you happen to have the knife that stabbed him?" Bobby asked. "What stabbed him? Demon? Spirit?"

"Spirit. And no, he never saw it." he filled Bobby in on the job they had been on, but like Sam, Bobby couldn't find any supernatural reason for Deans symptoms either.

"So? What'd the doctor say? He obviously didn't stay." Bobby thought maybe he should have, but didn't voice the thought out loud. He knew Dean wouldn't have agreed to stay even if Sam had been willing to leave him there.

"No, well, I mean yeah, but no." Sam shook his head. "He's anemic, you would think with all the freaking red meat the man eats, his iron level would be through the roof, but no, he's iron deficient. Massive, sudden acute blood loss, habitual consumption of ibuprofen, and excessive drinking. Oh yeah," he added at the look of disbelief on Bobby's face. "That factors in because he can't absorb vitamin B12." Sam sat back. "Massive blood lost? Come on, I've seen him bleed out worse than this but…hell, I dunno, there's no denying how weak he is."

"Okay, so what now? Vitamins?" weak? Ha! Dean being weak wasn't the reason Sam had taken him to the hospital.

"He has a prescription for iron supplements. He's okay with the foods the doctor recommends he eat. He's not fond of fish, but you know his love of red meat, so….." Sam spread jelly on his toast then set the slice of bread aside, reaching for his coffee. "The B12 though, is injections."

And that right there was why Sam had brought Dean to the only home they knew. Pills, Sam could deal with, forcing Dean to adhere to a diet was manageable, they could stay on the road, continue to hunt, deal with Dean's anemia and push on with the fight looming ahead - one that was unavoidable. Anemia was not a disease, was easily treated and fully curable. Daily injections with a needle? Well now, that there was gonna be a problem.

"Could be a lot worse, the doctor went on and on about symptoms and complications, yadda, yadda, yadda," Sam picked up the toast he had set aside. "Dean sure as hell didn't pay him any attention, I have notes and pamphlets and booklets to read. I'm just tired; he hasn't been easy to be around these last two weeks."

"You stay here as long as you need to, we got lots of research we can do while he gets back on his feet. He can help us out, he's capable of reading." Bobby paused. "So, aah, these injections, can he do it himself?"

Sam quirked both eyebrows and gave Bobby a look of 'yeah, right'. "Sure, but he's Dean."

"Okay then, how often and for how long?" Bobby asked.

"Twice a day for a week, normally, once a day is recommended but Dean never does anything half-assed. Then once a week for a month, then once a month for six months or so. See how his blood tests. Once the shots go once a week, there are pills for him to take."

"So, where? Guess the arm? Does it hurt?"

"Guess. You inject into the muscle, so arm or thigh, he pisses me off and I'll stick him in the ass. No need to find a vein, just the muscle."

"Sam, I gotta ask, do you know why he doesn't like needles? Has he ever said anything?"

"No, started when he came back from hell. Long as he doesn't see one, he's ok. The two times he's had to stitch me up since he's been back, he managed to get through it, but it cost him."

"He had to? Why couldn't you do it yourself?"

"First time was my back, second time I couldn't see straight."

"He'd do anything for you." Bobby said somewhat sadly. "Okay, you done? Go get a shower and go to bed, I'll start reading up on what doctor sent home with you. What about Dean? Should I let him be?"

"Hell, yeah, you don't want to wake him up." Sam finished his coffee. Shower and bed sounded great, he was more than ready to let someone else deal with Dean for a while. "He's fine on the sofa. Need me, get me up."

"Now, what the hell would I need you for?" Bobby muttered. Dean was a grown man, not a child of three. Sam just grinned and left the kitchen.

***000***

Two days later, Bobby was ready to pay for a motel if Sam would take Dean and leave. Dean was impossible to deal with; he wouldn't eat anything they made for him, didn't want to do anything, was never comfortable and had yet to start taking the B12 shots. Sam didn't push him; in fact he left him alone and all but stayed away from him. He'd read whatever the doctor had sent home with him, as had Bobby and they both came to different conclusions. Bobby wanted to confront Dean and push him, and Sam wanted to leave him alone and let him come to terms with his condition in his own time.

"Sam?" Bobby popped his head around the open doorway, he'd been looking everywhere for the boy, in the car port, outside and all through his salvage yard and finally, throughout the entire house, even the panic room, he never once thought to look in Dean's room. "I've looked everywhere for you, what the hell'r'ya doin' in here?" Sam sat on the dresser, light from the hallway the only light in the room.

"Watching him sleep." came the soft response. His face was in the shadows and Bobby couldn't make him out.

"Why?" Bobby asked quizzically, just when he thought he had an understanding of the two, one or the other did something to throw him off-balance. He suspected Sam didn't realize what he had just revealed.

"Cause I can." Sam said quietly, rubbing his eyes. "Cuz the only time he lets me close is when he's asleep, cuz of everything I've put him through, he's guarded himself against me, cuz…just because." he stayed in the shadows and Bobby heard the familiar sloshing of a half-full bottle of whiskey. "What's up? You need something?"

"Nothing important." Bobby decided now was not the time to push Sam over confronting Dean. Come morning, a hung-over Sam might be vulnerable enough to guilt trip into sticking Dean with a needle. "Time you went to bed kiddo, think you've had enough." he entered the room and reached for the bottle, easily taking it from Sam's limp hand.

"Come on, you have your own room."

"I'm good here." Sam laid his head against the wall. "I'll go to bed in a bit, just gimme a minute, 'k?"

"Yeah, kid. Okay." Bobby kept the bottle and quietly left the room. The brothers didn't have much in their lives. If Sam found comfort sitting on a dresser in a dark room watching his brother sleep, Bobby wasn't going to do anything to take that away from him.

Sam pulled the door to Dean's room closed. He pressed his forehead against the wall as he let go of the knob, taking a moment to gather his gather his frayed emotions. Once the stinging left his eyes and his breath evened out to a normal rhythm, he moved away from the room and headed downstairs to join Bobby and find out what he wanted.

More time had passed then he realized when he finally entered the kitchen.

"Hello, Sam." Sheriff Mills greeted.

He froze, darting a panicked glance in Bobby's direction. He poised to flee, though whether he should bolt from the house or run upstairs remained undecided. Every survival instinct within him urged him to flee the house, but those instincts warred with those that urged him to run to Dean.

"Relax Sam, she's not here on official business, sit down and have a drink. Didn't expect you to come down, thought we agreed you had your own room and should find it." Bobby set out a third glass. "He still asleep?" it was after nine o'clock but Bobby put coffee on, Sam had drunk half a bottle of hard whiskey that Bobby knew about, who was to say there hadn't been another bottle? "You hungry? Didn't eat much for supper." food would help with the quantity of alcohol Sam would end up consuming that night. "Sandwich?"

"Anyone wakes him up and I swear to god I will knock them out." Sam eyed the sheriff with distrust as he slid into a seat and accepted the glass of whiskey from Bobby. "Thanks."

"Still surprised you got him to go down. Did he take the shot?"

"Nope." he swirled the liquor then downed the contents of the glass, holding it out for a refill. Bobby poured it then made Sam a turkey sandwich.

"Ok then, did you at least try? I'll go straight up those stairs and stab him if you want me to, I don't have a problem doing it, really Sam, I don't." Bobby didn't like Sam being depressed. If he could take some of the burden of his shoulders, it would be one less thing to weigh Sam down. The kid was beat and Dean's recent behavior was not making anything easier for Sam. Sam was quiet, staring at the table, recalling the look in Dean's eyes when Sam had told him he had to take the shot. A shudder went through him; both Bobby and the sheriff noticed but remained silent.

"Bobby, he really doesn't like needles." Sam said quietly. "It freaks him out, I can't just ignore that and order him to stick himself with one." he hadn't even bothered to get the needle out to give Dean, knowing damn well Dean wasn't going to take it and stab himself in the thigh with it.

"You said he was ok as long as he didn't see one." Bobby began then sighed. "Ok, ok, then you have to do it Sam, if he won't, then you have to." he paused. "Or let me do it."

"I did." he downed the glass. "So, Sheriff, social call?"

"Jodi, call me Jodi, and yes, I stopped by to have a drink with Bobby, I didn't realize you boys were here. I usually see the car and keep on driving or Bobby calls to tell me you are in town." she gave Bobby a puzzled look, wondering why he had let her in since both boys were there.

"Oh." he was still tense, not at all comfortable with her. He kept glancing at Bobby, unsure whether he should stay. "Didn't know the two of you had made peace."

"Knowing now what Bobby is all about, what he does, knowing what I know, it helps to have someone to talk to about it." Jodi told Sam. "Can't say I like it like, but can't ignore it either."

"Sam..!" Bobby warned, seeing the younger man was ready to bolt. "Relax, ok? You're good, Dean's fine, eat." he waited but Sam didn't relax. "God, are we going to go through this again? You gave him the first injection, then?"

"Bobby, don't start, ok? It's hard enough for me making him do something he doesn't want to do, I can't just force him to….I…..I can't….I just can't!" his eyes closed with a wince. "Just stop, ok? Stop."

"Dammit Sam, did you or did you not give him the shot? Since when do you cower and hide?"

"I said I did." Sam snapped blinking. "Leave me alone, ok? Just...not now Bobby."

"You can't keep doing this Sam, I know you're trying to do what Dean wants, I know you don't see it the same way he does, but you can't do this to yourself, you need to let it go."

"How Bobby? How the hell do I do that? After everything I've put him through, everything he's gone through for me, everything he's given up for me, his whole life, his entire childhood was a sacrifice for me and what did I do? How did I thank him? I ran away from him when I was a kid, I walked out of his life when I was a teenager and when I was an adult, I left him. I've lied to him, I've used him, I've manipulated him and I've betrayed him. Hell, I've done nothing but hurt him. He's given up everything for me Bobby, more than once, anything that has ever mattered to him….."

"Sam, my god, how many times have we been through this? It's who he is, he knows no other way."

"I don't want to be his only reason Bobby, I can't have that on my shoulders! He needs to want something for himself. He should just do what he wants, if he wants a life with Lisa and Ben, then he should have it. He should have stayed with them, I would have….." he grimaced, rubbing his forehead, tongue thick from alcohol. "All I've ever done is kick him when he's down. I've taken him for granted my whole life, even when I went to college; I knew if I called him, he'd be there. I never imagined what my life would be like without him and I gotta tell ya, when I found out, I didn't like it. But reality, I could lose him again and there are no guarantees I'll get him back."

"Sam, enough, he's not going anywhere." Bobby didn't want to get into what was really bothering Sam since he was drinking. He was drinking because he feared losing Dean. He was scared because Dean had been hurt and wasn't recovering as quickly as expected.

"He's not?" he said disdainfully. "I dunno Bobby, I lost him and I recall ending the world. And when I got him back, I wouldn't listen to him, nothing and no one was going to stop me from getting revenge on those who took him away from me, not even him. And what happened? I put Dean through two years of shit and that's after he literally went to hell for me and then I left him - again. I dragged him away from his home, screwed that up, back into hunting, I betrayed him, again, let him be turned into something vile and violent, sided with Samuel, worked for a demon, tried to kill you, made a deal with an angel who wanted Dean dead and oh yeah, made Dean deal with Death, put him through that pain, only for him to think he failed. I stayed away from him for a year Bobby, a whole year and look…."

"Sam, enough." Bobby bit out harshly. "We've been through this so many damn times, neither of you deal well when you lose the other, he made a damn deal and sold his soul. You didn't walk out of his life when you went to college, he let you go. And ok, yeah, so maybe you didn't handle his death well, but Sam, he didn't die a natural death, he went to hell! As for when you got him back, you had Ruby up your ass, which was the work of forces far stronger than any human can ever be."

Sam shrugged, eyes on the table.

"We all made mistakes and you both screwed up. Did you ever stop to think he's as strong as he is because he has you? It's done, it's in the past, let it stay there. All you can do now it go forward and prepare yourself for what's coming. I left him alone when you died and I sure as hell knew better. I didn't tell him when you came back and because of that you…. I chose what I thought was his happiness over your selfishness, that turned out real well didn't it?"

Another shrug.

"Had I told him, you wouldn't have run with the Campbell's for a year. We wudda known sooner that something was wrong, dammit I shudda known. We cudda got you out sooner! Point is, we all have regrets, so knock off the self-doubt and pity." Bobby poured another round of shots, pushing the plate of food at Sam. "You said you had him checked for internal bleeding, right? The doctor found nothing." Bobby decided to change the subject. "Do you think maybe he bled out from some other injury earlier that he may have hidden from you?"

"Dunno where, I had him pinned on the floor, there were no wounds anywhere on him other than the one I was sewing up."

"I dunno Sam, something here ain't right, yeah, he's always cranky when he's hurt, but never like this."

"I know." he was quiet. "Went over everything, the wound was clean, nothing supernatural on it or about it, no poison, no nothing. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong other than the anemia. What I can't explain is the amount of blood he lost, I was there Bobby, he didn't lose that much, oh, he lost a lot, yeah, but nothing that even made me feel like it was too much, you know? I mean, he's lost more at one time before in the past and it never caused these problems."

"Well, neither of you have anywhere to go, right? Give him a couple of days and see how he is, maybe once the meds and the shots have a chance to take effect, he'll feel better."

"Didn't mean to stay to long, I just needed a day or two to regroup."

"And where will you go? To a motel to hole up? No…" he pulled the whiskey bottle away from Sam when he reached for it. "Not until you eat something, drinking yourself sick isn't going to help you feel any better…so you gave him the shot, how'd he like it?"

Sam reached for the coffee. "He didn't. You can do it tomorrow."

***000***

A week later, Sam and Dean left for a hunt that was only a two-hour drive away. A hunter Bobby knew and worked with on occasion had called asking for back-up with a job. Sam had been reluctant to go, hadn't wanted Dean to go at all, decided to leave him with Bobby and go without him but in the end had caved to Dean and they had left together. Bobby didn't expect them back, they were going to search for Castiel once the job they were leaving to do was done and he sent them on their way, telling them to call should they need him in any way.

"Hey Jodi." Bobby let her in. "What brings you out this way? Trouble in town?"

"More trouble comes to my town because of you Singer." she took off her gun belt and hat and set both aside. "Be it evil or criminal, more violence happens here because you. And trouble follows those boys everywhere. So? They good?"

"Last I heard from them, yeah." he got out a bottle, two glasses and the two friends sat down to a friendly game of cards and a bottle between them. "Dean's doing better, manages to give himself the shot, Sam's not too sure about it but they are both so damn stubborn when it comes to the other." he relaxed, the night was quiet, he was spending time with a friend with nothing on his mind other than whether to break out the dry roasted peanuts or the cashews. "So, Jodi, cashews or dry…." his land line phone rang. Bobby went still, eyes glazing over as the phone continued to ring. Jodi gave him a questioning look. "Dammit" he should have left the damn thing broken.

"Gonna get that?" she asked when it continued to ring and no answering machine clicked on.

"I don't want to." Bobby muttered as he got up. "No good news ever comes in on that line, only Sam calls on it and when he does, it's trouble." despite his grumbling, , Bobby would always answer the call. "Yeah?" he answered. "Sam? What….."

"We're thirty minutes out, we're gonna need..." the voice faded. "Shit, sorry...need you to be ready." the voice came back strong and it wasn't Sam.

"For what? Chris, what's wrong? Who's hurt?"

"It's Dean."

"Dean's hurt? How bad is he?" Bobby growled. "Sam?"

"Dunno Bobby." Chris cursed as the car hit a bump in the road, Bobby heard someone cry out in pain and a voice murmur words he couldn't make out. "Didn't have time to…..he's bleeding pretty bad. Sam's ok."

"I'll be ready. Shot? Stabbed? What am I looking at here Chris?"

"Shot with an arrow." Chris said tersely. Bobby heard another cry of pain and the line went dead.

"Shit." Bobby hung up. "Change of plans Sheriff."

Chris and Sam carried Dean between them. Jodi took one look at the three men and with one sweep of her arm, cleared the kitchen table of everything on it, heedless of what broke as it fell or where it landed. A hard surface was needed and the lighting in the kitchen was the best in the house. The floor was tile, easy to clean and water and ice was on hand. Water boiled on the stove and first aid supplies sat ready and waiting on the counter along with towels and blankets. There was no need to tell them where to put Dean who was conscious but quiet.

They lifted him together and dropped him on the table where they pinned him down on his back, holding him still when he squirmed to get away. Chris was telling Bobby what had happened, Sam was trying to talk Dean into laying still and Dean was asking to be released. No one was gentle. Chris hauled Dean upright as Sam stripped him of his coat and shirt, leaving him in a torn, bloody black t-shirt then pushed him down with a hand to his shoulder, shoving his shirt up to show Bobby what Jodi assumed was the injury.

Dean didn't lay still, feet coming up to rest on the table, heels digging against the table-top to gain leverage with his legs only to have Sam grab his ankles and yank his legs flat, he resisted, wanting his knees up. Chris pulled him up the table, grabbing his hands when Dean tried to sit up. Bobby was trying to get a look at Dean without touching him, not wanting to hurt him. Sam took no such caution; he let Chris keep Dean down while he pulled the t-shirt up again to show Bobby.

"Sweet Jesus Sam, isn't that the same side he got stabbed in and you stitched few weeks ago?" Bobby rubbed his jaw. Alias or not, every time they say a doctor, they risked discovery. Explaining a knife injury was one thing, explaining how Dean had been shot with an arrow was another. Sam had made the decision to bring Dean home to Bobby and Bobby wasn't going to be the one to suggest a hospital.

"Yeah." he pushed Dean down for a third time, sending Chris a look of disgust for not holding him. "Yo, Chris, little help here?"

"He's a lot stronger than you think Sam." Chris grunted, dragging Dean back up the table.

"Dammit Dean, lay still." Sam ordered, knocking his knees down again. "Hey! Be still?"

"Jodi? Lend Chris a hand?" Bobby asked as Chris slammed Dean's shoulders against the table in an attempt to stun him. Jodi wasn't strong enough to pin Dean by herself but with Chris's help, they managed to hold him down against the table and keep him from sitting up. "Now, what the hell?"

"Arrow." Sam let Dean raise one leg to rest his foot on the table and held his knee to keep the leg still, if that was all Dean wanted, what could it hurt? "I cut both ends off, thought I could push it through, shudda been able to, but he carried on like I was killing him, couldn't pull it out or push it back, didn't want to do that, not supposed to, but I wanted it out."

"So, it's still in him?"

"Yeah." Dean was lying still for the moment, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved as he struggled to control his rapid breathing, tensing when Sam laid his hand against his stomach, fingers lightly touching the end of the arrow lodged in Dean's right side, just above the waist of his jeans. "I don't know how to get it out Bobby, he won't let me touch it, got the bleeding to stop, but his side is swollen."

"Did he lose consciousness at all?" Bobby was eyeballing without touching.

"No, drifts in and out, but you call him, he's with you." Sam pushed until Dean eased towards his left side, turning to his left shoulder but not his hip. "Ever seen anything like this?"

"No." Bobby inwardly cursed, trying to keep his fear to himself, no sense freaking Sam out. "It has to come out."

"You try." Sam said. "He has a high tolerance for pain Bobby, I tried pulling it out, I tried pushing it through, I went against everything I've ever been taught and even tried to push it back out." he repeated. "He didn't tolerate any movement of it at all. It's an arrow shaft, but damn if he's acting like it is." Dean gave a grunt of disagreement and let Chris push him on to his back.

Bobby got an LED flashlight and took a closer look. Dean started to squirm; both legs scrambling for a hold on the table, Sam held his legs down by a hand on either knee, letting him kick his feet harmlessly against the table legs. He was pretty much content to lie still as long as no one tried to touch the shaft or poke about the entry or exit wound.

"It doesn't seem very deep, straight through, you outta be able to just pull it out." Bobby gently took hold of the end of the arrow shaft with a pair of pliers and gave a gentle tug. Dean groaned, going pale and breaking out in a heavy sweat.

When Bobby applied pressure, the groan became a whimper, when Bobby applied force, the whimper became a cry of pain and when Bobby gave a sharp yank and the shaft jerked but didn't move, the cry of pain became a scream. His head banged against the table, his back arched off it and his stomach muscles rolled as his hands fisted. Sam turned his head away, swallowing hard, he was the one Bobby directed his look at, not Dean who was panting into the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Ok, ok, ok, ok, sssh, easy, easy, just take it easy." he set the pliers aside. "Ok, that's not going to work." he scratched his head through his hat. "Damn me."

"I wish he'd just pass out, would make it easier." Sam sighed. "Touch this end of it, I've never seen an arrow like it. It's not as thick as my finger, yet is thicker than a pencil. Feel that? Little spikes or thorns?"

"Jesus Christ Sam, we can't pull that through him, it'll tear him open." Bobby felt sick, why the hell hadn't Sam pointed that out earlier? He never would have tried tugging on it.

"Going out on a limb here, but….you guys ever heard of a hospital?" Jodi asked. She didn't know Dean all that well, but feeling him shake under her hands gave her a feeling in her gut she didn't like. She felt an overwhelming urge to console him, to do whatever she could to offer him comfort.

"Can you guarantee me that the authorities won't be called?" Sam asked looking at her, knowing her answer despite wanting to hear differently. "And if they are, will it be you?"

"More likely, with a wound like that, it will be the state police." she admitted reluctantly. She found that she was absently rubbing her palm up and down Dean's left bicep and stilled her hand. His eyes were closed, face turned against his right arm and he didn't seem to mind her touch.

"It's not a chance I'm willing to take." Sam knew the decision was his, knew while Bobby might not agree, he wouldn't try to talk Sam out of it. "I can't."

"Then a hospital isn't an option." Bobby said with a sigh, confirming what Sam knew. "Sam, are you sure you want to put him through this?"

"Do I have a choice?" he countered. He wasn't sure of anything other than he was about to cry. No, of course he didn't want to put his brother through any more pain, didn't want to be the cause of it or be the reason he would have to suffer it. But he would be damned before anyone took his brother away from him again or tried to keep him away from him. A hospital would be best for Dean, not Sam. Sam could handle what they were about to do, what he couldn't handle was having Dean taken away from him. What it came down to, was what best for Dean versus what Sam needed.

"Can you?" Bobby knew as long as he held himself together, Sam would be able to do the same. Were the situation reversed and Sam was the one on the table, Bobby wouldn't have had to question Dean. Dean was capable of putting Sam through anything, no matter the cause or the reason. He may not like it, may find it hard to do, but he'd do it without hesitation. "Sam?"

"How are you going to know if there is any internal damage? Ok, yeah, it doesn't look deep, just under his skin, but you don't know that!" Jodi argued. "He can't stand you touching it, how the hell are you going to get it out?" she paused. "What about…? Are you sure….? I mean, you said…..it was only weeks ago that….dammit Bobby, you can't do this to him, suck it up and get the boy to a hospital!"

Bobby held Sam's eyes. While his own were dry, Sam's were moist and he blinked several times before turning to look at Chris who still held Dean down on the table but wasn't applying any force. Sam's eyes moved down to Dean whose hands lay on the table on either side of his head, fingers relaxed, fists open and at first glance, he appeared calm and at ease, but Sam knew better. Dean's gaze was steady, locked on Sam.

"Your call Sam, I'll do whatever you need me to." Chris said steadily, ready for whatever they expected of him.

Sam nodded, his mind was already made up, but he wanted to hear what Chris thought. "What do you think?"

Chris hesitated, looking down at Dean, then over at Jodi. "Hell Sam, it'd be better to take him to a hospital, you're talking cutting that outta him. But if you do, and they call the police…..he's supposed to be dead, they ever find out who he really is, you might not even see him again." he paused. "Can you protect him?" he asked Jodi.

"No." she said softly. "Locally, yeah, against the state police or the feds, should they be called in to verify his identity? No. I'm sorry."

"Then we do it here." Chris voiced aloud what both Bobby and Sam knew had to be done. Both Bobby and Chris, Dean as well, would do whatever was necessary to protect Sam's mental state.

"Can you do this Sam?" Bobby asked again. It would go a hell of a lot easier if Sam were to stay with Dean. Dean would let them do what they had to; Bobby knew that, he would be more upset over Sam freaking out then what he was about to suffer through. "Sam, I gotta know now, tell me before we begin, are you ok with hurting him like this?"

"Is Dean going to let you?" Jodi asked. "Bobby, you….."

"He doesn't have a choice." Bobby took off his long-sleeved flannel shirt and went over to the sink to start scrubbing his hands and arms with a bar of yellow soap. "It's gotta come out Jodi, we can't take him to the hospital, so we have to do it here. We have what we need, he'll be ok. Sam? You'll need to wash your hands."

"Damn the authorities Bobby! Take him to a hospital and get him the help he needs. You can figure out a way to get out of this mess IF they are called."

"Risk a chance that he's taken away from Sam?" Bobby questioned. "I can't do that Jodi, together they will get through this, apart…." he paused. "I can't put Sam through that."

"Sam? SAM?! This isn't about Sam!" Jodi's voice rose. "What about what you're going to put Dean through? Doesn't that matter to anyone?"

"Sam?" Dean said quietly, calling everyone's attention to him. "You don't have to stay for this, Bobby can do it."

"You don't want me here?" Sam asked, fingers tightening on Deans knee. He'd let Dean raise his leg once again to rest his foot on the table, a position Dean favored, it wasn't much, but at least it was something Sam could give him.

"That's not what I said." Dean licked at his lip, green eyes swimming. "I'm giving you an out, that's all." he lowered his right hand to circle his fingers around Sam's wrist. He felt Chris take hold of his left arm, and tighten his hold on his shoulders but Dean wasn't trying to sit up or break free, he just wanted a solid connection to Sam.

"You seriously think I could leave you? Would want to?" he forced his fingers to relax but didn't remove his hand. "Jesus Christ Dean, what the hell makes you think I would let you go through this alone?"

"Bobby, can you do this?" Jodi asked. "I mean, do you know what you're doing? Not can you hurt him like this?" she looked down at Dean, cause obviously Bobby could. She failed to understand why Bobby didn't have a problem with that. "Dean, hey." she waited until his eyes left Sam and focused on her. "Are you sure you want to do this? If you want to go to the hospital just tell me. This is your decision, not Sam's." Dean looked up at her, felt all eyes on him, waiting. Jodi looked at Sam's hand holding Dean's knee, at Dean's hand holding Sam's wrist; were each agreeing to this for the other. Sam because he couldn't risk having Dean taken away from him, Dean because he knew how terrified Sam was of taking that chance. "Ok, I get it, I do. Bobby?"

"If we can't pull or push it out, then we have to cut it out, simple as that." Bobby said briskly, rubbing his hands. "Sam?" he stood out of Dean's immediate sight and held up a syringe. Sam knew what Bobby was asking and hesitated before shrugging. Knocking Dean out would make the procedure easier, but Dean didn't come out of sedation well.

"What?" Dean rolled his head on the table, tilting to one side to try to see Bobby. "No, no, not that, no, Sam, please, no! Don't! I don't want….." Bobby hid the needle but Dean knew what he was asking Sam. "No drugs."

"Ssssh." Sam shushed him, shaking his knee to get his attention. "Dean, you don't want to be awake for this…"

"Then just let me pass out when the pain's too much, I can't handle waking up from that Sam, not again." he was trying to pull away from Chris and Jodi, trying to sit up, his grip on Sam's wrist unconsciously tightened until Sam winced and shook his arm to loosen the hold. "Sam? Please? No." he didn't want to beg, didn't want to put any more guilt on Sam, but he hated being drugged. "No drugs, god, no, not that, no…."

"Hey, stop." Sam pushed him down. "Ok, ok, I won't, ok? Have it your way, but you aren't going to like it." he grabbed Dean's chin and forced his head still. "If you want it, Dean, hey, don't shut me out, look at me, if you want it; just say my name, ok? You don't have to ask for it, just say my name." he waited for Dean to nod then let him go. With any luck, Dean would pass out at the first slice of the scalpel. "Ok now? Huh?" he gave Dean a few minutes to relax, relieved to see his breathing return to shallow pants and the tension leave his body as he let go of Sam. "Bobby?"

"Want him tied down?" Chris asked.

Dean jerked, panic lit his eyes and he grabbed for Sam, fingers gripping his sleeve and twisting the fabric in his fist. If he hated being drugged, being tied up terrified him. He couldn't handle facing restraints, needles, and drugs. Uncontrollable pain one was thing, loss of being in control was another. Suffering at Sam's hands wasn't new, getting his own way with Sam was easily done. Bobby, though, was a different issue and he didn't know Chris well enough to know what he would do. While Dean could sway Sam to his side, Bobby would turn a deaf ear and do what he thought was best, Dean's fears be damned.

"No." he whispered. "NO! I'll lie still…." Chris was shaking his head, Dean would try, of that they were sure, but there was no way he could be in the kind of pain they were about to put him through and be able to lay still. "Sammy? Don't…...don't you dare tie me down!"

"Sam." Bobby sided with Chris, would tie Dean down despite his pleas against it. Hell, he would ignore Dean entirely, shoot him up with sedatives and still tie him down. "I don't think you…"

"He's good." Sam's voice was husky, he didn't miss the look Chris and Bobby exchanged, knew they didn't agree with his decision and were deciding whether or not to override him. "Bobby, no."

"Your call." Bobby said finally. "Jodi, you in? Leave now if you aren't."

"I think you're insane to put him through this, but if I can help, I'll stay." part of her wanted to help, part of her wanted to see if Sam would make it through the entire procedure without breaking down and a part of her wanted to see Dean through it.

"We can use all hands here." Chris said. "I'm Chris by the way, nice to meet you, local Sheriff, right?"

"Jodi Mills, another hunter, I take it?"

"Guilty." Chris gave her a smile. "Okay, ready when you are. Sam, if it gets too much for you, step out."

Sam nodded. He wasn't going anywhere, there wasn't a force on this earth that could compel him to leave his brother's side. Chris and Jodi held Dean on the table and Bobby and Sam, armed with pliers, a scalpel, tweezers, clamps, boiling water, gauze and sponges began the difficult task of extracting the arrow shaft from Dean.

They first tried to cut what was the exit wound open and make it larger. Dean was able to tolerate the cutting and the dabbing with the sponge to control the bleeding but when Bobby pulled with pliers and Sam pushed with his fingers, his reaction caused the four of them to stop and rethink their options. They got the same result when they tried to reverse the motion and pull the shaft out the way it had gone in.

Sam made Bobby stop, he needed a moment to clear his head, hearing his brother muffle his cries of pain tore at him in a way he had never experienced. Dean was held still by Chris and Jodi only because pain had yet to become dominant and take over his actions and cause him to fight their hold. Bobby's hand was steady but Sam's was shaking, he could feel Dean's bunched muscles quiver and contract beneath the palm he let rest lightly on his belly.

Still conscious, his body slick with sweat and shaking so violently the table shook, Dean didn't fight the hold Chris and Jodi had on him. He'd bitten through his bottom lip and he licked the blood from his mouth as he took the moment to regroup. He knew it was going to get worse, knew Sam was on the verge of breaking, knew Bobby would soon doubt what he was doing was the right thing to do, knew they wouldn't begin again until Sam gave the say-so.

He let his mind wander to the offered relief, licking his own blood had him reconsidering that one vial that would make all this easier. Dazed in unrelenting pain, he couldn't recall how he woke up from being sedated and the only thing he could think about was finding a way to make his tongue voice Sam's name out loud. All he could force it to do was push against his teeth and spit instead of swallow. His tolerance for pain kept him conscious and he was scared they would tie him down. He would welcome the blissful darkness if only he could pass out.

He heard voices above and around him, could only make out Sam's, tried to hear the words said, wanted to prepare himself for whatever was coming next. He heard himself groan when he felt fingers on his side, pressing slightly to feel the shaft under his skin, the touch was light but rolled his skin, trying to move the shaft imbedded within. He choked and he heard a chorus of voices all talking over one another.

"bleeding from his mouth."

"bit..through..tongue?"

"he's choking."

"swallow his tongue?"

"no, lip"

His jaw was held and his teeth pried apart. He thought he opened his eyes to see who was manhandling his mouth but all he could see was a red haze. Fingers were in his mouth; he tried to bite, wanted to cry, managed to spit blood. A hand cupped his cheek and he turned into the caress, seeking any source of comfort being offered. His right hand fisted, flailing weakly, unable to find anything solid to hold to. Pushed to his left side, hands gripped his shoulders, and a hand held the back of his neck, holding his head down. His left hand found the edge of the table and held tight, his right was caught and held, a finger worked its way through his clenched fist, prying it open and a warm hand curled around his fingers. He clung tight, knowing instinctively whose it was. All too soon, the warmth was gone and all he had to hold onto was the fabric of a sleeve.

"Ready?" Bobby took a deep breath. Chris had moved to hold Dean's legs down. It'd been decided Sam would try to hold Dean still while Bobby yanked the shaft free with one hard pull with the pliers. Moving it cautiously hadn't worked, trying to wiggle and worm it out had failed and cutting the exit wound larger had done nothing but cause him to bleed heavily.

Jodi nodded, thumbing the tears from Dean's cheek, stealing a glance at Sam to see if he noticed his brother. Sam let Dean hold to his shirt sleeve, and nodded for Bobby to proceed. Bobby gripped the pliers with all his strength and yanked as hard as he was capable of doing. The shaft didn't move, but he succeeded in bodily pulling Dean across the table despite the hold three grown adults had on him.

"Son-of...Dammit!" Bobby exploded as Dean's screams abruptly ended as he gagged, left temple slamming against the table hard enough to split his eye open. Jodi used both hands to hold his head still and prevent him from slamming it a second time. Sam had to exert force to hold Dean down, and Chris found himself on the table, sitting on Dean's legs to keep him from kicking out and rolling off the table. He handed Jodi a towel; she pushed Dean's head to the side and dabbed at the blood. Dean twisted beneath him, bucking up against him, choking on blood and spit. His fisted right hand smacked against the table until Sam held it down and forced him to stop.

"Is it out?" Chris asked. "Damn it, Dean, pass out already." he used his thighs to hold Dean beneath him and put his weight on the heels of his hands against Dean's left shoulder, freeing Sam to use both hands to pull Dean back up to the top and back over to the middle of the table.

"No." Bobby threw the pliers in a fit of rage, his hat followed. He didn't have time to indulge in the temper tantrum he wanted to throw. Dean's thrashing and the unsuccessful pull on the shaft had caused the bleeding to restart and Bobby grabbed a wad of gauze and a towel to staunch the flow as he considered what to do next.

"So, now a hospital?" Jodi asked, helping Sam push Dean back onto his left side, head resting on the towel. She wondered if his eye would need stitches.

"No." Sam laid a hand along Dean's back, willing the violent shudders and uncontrollable shaking to calm. He moved around the table and squatted down so that he was eye level with his brother. He so didn't want to see the green of Dean's eyes, was praying that Dean had finally passed out, wanted to know that he had finally found some relief.

He wasn't surprised to meet Deans wild eyes, his grip on Sam's sleeve hadn't weakened, telling Sam that Dean was still conscious. Jodi mentally counted the tortured breaths coming from the man lying on the table, felt the rapid heartbeat under her fingers on his neck, and wanted him to be unconscious as desperately as the men did. Wondered how much more he could take. Wondered who would crack first. Bobby and Sam were emotionally invested, it was tearing them apart putting Dean through what amounted to torture.

"Cut him open." Sam stood up. "I can't do this much longer; just slice him open."

"I need a minute." Bobby said harshly. Jodi tore her eyes from Dean to look up at Bobby. Chris was fine, Sam had gathered his inner strength and was holding up; Bobby had cracked.

"He bleeding that bad?" Sam leaned across both Dean and the table to move Bobby's hand. They'd already cut and sliced both the entry and exit wounds, what was a few more stitches? "You control the bleeding then."

Sam held his hand out for the scalpel; Bobby hesitated then gave it to him. A steady hand was required and it appeared the steadiest was Sam's. Sam gently pried Dean's fingers loose from his sleeve and gave his hand to Jodi to hold. Dean stirred with a soft whimper, reaching back out to Sam who closed his eyes and stepped out of reach. He needed both his hands and neither could be hampered by a hold on his sleeve. Dean let his hand fall to the table, eyes closing, he didn't try again.

"Ssh, it's ok." Jodi whispered. Sam denying Dean that bit of comfort nearly drove her to her knees. She understood why and she knew what it was costing Sam but it didn't make her feel any better about it.

Dean managed to lie still the entire time Sam cut into his skin, digging deeper until the tip of the scalpel made contact with the top of the shaft. He gave an occasional jerk or flinched but for the most part, he was able to hold it together. Until Sam began to cut downwards, like he was slicing bread, then any control Dean had fled.

Chris held his legs but Jodi wasn't strong enough to keep him pinned to the table. Bobby tried to assist her, but the bleeding left uncontrolled impeded Sam's progress, forcing him to stop. Dean soon had Jodi in tears; even Chris was white-faced and tight-lipped. Bobby tried his damnedest to ignore Dean and help Sam, but he found his own eyes were blurry and his hands shook so badly he couldn't apply pressure as hard as he needed to. He raised his head to look at Sam, reaching for a clean towel, ready to verbally flay the boy and order him to get on with it.

"Sam? Sam?" he tossed a blood soaked wad of gauze at Sam to get his attention. "Sam! Come on boy, get on…." he realized that Sam's eyes kept straying over to the counter where he had left the syringe that contained a strong sedative, then back to Dean.

Sam, nowhere near done, hadn't continued and it wasn't because of the bleeding. He was trying to decide whether to go against what Dean wanted and knock him out. Bobby could see the war raging within Sam on his face and he wanted to encourage Sam to go for it, if not for Dean, then for the rest of them who were finding it hard to continue on. Bobby didn't have to speak up, Sam was moving towards the counter, intent on picking up the syringe, mind made up.

"Sa….Sam-mmy?" Dean choked out, throat thick. Somehow, his tongue found the ability a form word. He hadn't noticed Sam had left his side, didn't know Sam held the syringe. He'd had enough, his brother had offered. It wasn't like he asked and Sam had refused.

In his befuddled mind, he knew he would regret taking the sedative; would pay for it with more misery and discomfort but right now easing the pain that robbed him of his breath and made him choke just by inhaling, was all he cared about. He felt like he'd been ripped apart. Pain impeded his ability to think coherently. He wanted to pass out and feel nothing more, he wasn't able to process the knowledge why he hadn't wanted the sedative.

His right arm was grabbed and straightened out. He felt the cold alcohol wipe against his skin, and despite the multitude of pain he was in, the agony from his ears to his toes, he still felt the god-damn prick of the fucking needle.

"Finally." Bobby watched Dean fight the pull of the sedative, waited for him to go limp, saw his right eye roll and finally close. "Sam, you ok?"

"No." he picked the scalpel back up. "Let's get this over with."

Twenty minutes later, the arrow shaft lay in Sam's palm. He cleaned it off with alcohol, washed his hands, then picked up the shaft and closed his fist around it as tightly as he could. When he released his hand and held his palm out for all to see, blood oozed from numerous puncture wounds on his fingers and across his palm.

Bobby took the shaft from him. He didn't know whether he was impressed or scared that Sam had been able to inflict those injuries on himself without a wince or hiss or grimace of pain. Okay, scared; Sam being confused or emotionless scared the hell out of him.

"Do you know who shot him with this?" Bobby asked. "Do you have the pieces you cut off?

"Yes." Sam held his hand under the running faucet and let Jodi wash his hand with the bar of anti-bacterial soap.

"Yes to what?"

"I have the pieces."

"This wasn't designed to kill; it was designed to inflict pain." Bobby observed. "Chris…"

"Don't put him on the spot Bobby, I know who shot him." Sam let Jodi dry his hand and apply an ointment. He didn't know what it was, didn't care, probably Neosporin. "Soon as I know he's ok to leave, I have somewhere to go."

"Now Sam, don't go off half-cocked and do something stupid." Bobby was giving Dean's split eye some attention, thumbing his eyebrow up and packing a wad of gauze into the cut that continued to bleed.

"Don't go there Bobby." Sam warned. "I can't handle you telling me I'm wrong or telling me what I shouldn't do."

"Sam, you're wasted. You sure as hell ain't thinking right and you can't go off on some hunt when you're this screwed up." Bobby blew his breath out. "This is gonna need stitches."

"Proceed with caution Bobby, I can only deal with one truck load of guilt right now and this one is Dean's. You want me to flip out and start punching the walls and get all this bottled-up rage inside me out, keep talking."

"Let me at least wrap the palm." Jodi said pulling him back when he tried to walk away.

"Let me stitch him up." Bobby offered. He knew Sam would want to do it, but wasn't sure if he could what with his hand now cut up a dozen different ways. It'd been his left hand that he'd deliberately injured, but it had to hurt.

"I've got him." Sam took the needle and thread from Chris. "But you can lend a hand."

An hour later, Dean was finally settled in bed, Chris and Sam carrying him up to his room. Sam figured he had maybe three hours before the sedative wore off. Enough time for a shower and a couple of hours of sleep before Dean would be awake.

Sam sought refuge in the bathroom, away from the prying eyes and concern looks of Bobby. He was due to have his meltdown and he could think of no better place than the shower to indulge it. He wanted to throw punches and kick at the wall, but he settled for standing in the shower with the water as hot as he could stand it, probably hotter than he could. He faced the wall, palms bracing his weight against it, hot water all but blistering the skin on his back. He turned around and slowly slid down the wall of the shower, sitting with his arms crossed over his drawn knees, face buried in his folded arms.

He didn't know if he was numb because the water was too hot or if because he had just knowingly tortured his brother. That Dean had let him didn't matter, he could have taken him to a hospital. Hell, he should have, if he had been stronger, if he had been able to put Dean's needs ahead of his own, he would have. It didn't make him feel any better to know Dean had finally asked to be knocked out; he knew what the result would be.

He pushed to his feet, turned back the hot water, added cold and reached for the soap. It he took much longer, Bobby would come looking for him.

"Chris, you have to tell me what you know." Bobby said as he and Jodi cleaned up the kitchen. "I need to know who Sam is going to go after and whether I should try to stop him."

"Can you?" Jodi asked scrubbing the blood stains on the wood table with a scouring cleanser.

"What? Stop him? Probably not, never could before, god knows I've tried. Dean might be able to get through to him, but Dean isn't in any condition to help me handle Sam, wont' be for a few days."

"Owner of the land we were hunting on we were poaching. What we were doing there is hard to explain and very few people believe the truth anyway." Chris held a trash bag and was picking up discarded gauze and towels and sponges, no sense trying to save anything, "You gonna try to keep them here?"

"So, he's human." Bobby sighed. "Give up Jodi, I need a new table anyway, I can't ever eat on that one again." he ran hot water into the sink to wash the tools they had used. "Can keep Dean here, so might be able to manipulate Sam into staying for a while."

"Can't say I blame you." Jodi continued to scrub, needed the action to occupy both her mind and her hands. "This isn't over you know. I can't see Sam going anywhere for a while."

"Sam will go soon as Dean sleeps on his own for longer than an hour." Bobby groused. "Will be a day or two, at most three, even if I have you lock him up, he'll find a way to go."

"And do what? Kill the guy? Commit murder?" Jodi shook her head. "Were you trespassing Chris? Did the man have a legal right to shoot?"

"Maybe, but with an arrow? One like that?"

"A normal person would have gone straight to the hospital." Jodi pointed out. "You did say that the arrow was designed to inflict pain, not kill."

"More like maim." Bobby corrected. "Hospital or not, that arrow is illegal."

"He could have warned us off his property. We didn't see any signs posted that it was private property nor did we see any signs that said no trespassing. We can't make this a legal issue either." Chris argued. "We were walking through the woods, tracking, and the next thing we know, Dean's face first in the dirt, and the old man's charging us. Sam pulled his gun, had the man in his sights, only Dean calling him off kept him from pulling the trigger."

"So, he shot Dean with no warning." Bobby went over to the stairs to listen, going up several steps before returning to the kitchen. "Sam will never let this go."

"None." Chris confirmed. "He needs any help...I'm a phone call away."

"Bobby, I'm speaking as a law official, and I want the truth." Jodi swallowed hard; her friendship with Bobby might from this moment forward be irrevocably ruined. "Can you control Sam?"

Bobby plunged his hands into the soapy water. He wanted to lie to Jodi and tell her everything was going to be all right. That Dean could control Sam even if he failed to do so. He relied on his gut instinct to trust her.

"No." he didn't turn to look at her, wondering if he had just made a huge mistake.

"As your friend, I will do anything I can to help you. As the sheriff, the only thing that happened here tonight was you and I played cards, the boys came home and we all shared a drink."

"Anything?" Bobby turned to face her. "So, if Sam takes off, and I go after him, you'll stay with Dean?" he waited, it was a lot to ask and he knew he would never leave Dean alone with a woman he barely knew, but hearing Jodi say she would meant something to him. She had every legal right to arrest both of them.

"Long as I don't know where Sam has gone or why, if I happen to spend a night or two here, who's gonna care?" Jodi decided it was time she left. "Call me, you need anything, hope he makes out ok. I'll stop by in a day or two to see how he's doing. Good luck with Sam."

"Thanks Jodi." Bobby said sincerely. "Sorry to put you on the spot like this, but you gotta know this life ain't easy."

"Nice meeting you Chris."

***000***

Dean tried to blink the clock on the night stand into focus. The room was quiet and dark but he recognized where he was. The clock said 700700. Great, he was seeing double. He lay still, afraid to move, unsure how he was feeling. His hearing returned next and he had just identified the sound of someone breathing when every sense of awareness he possessed slammed into him without warning.

He didn't have time to lift his head before bile choked him and he vomited where he lay. He was on his left side but he couldn't manage to push himself up on his elbow or lift his head from the soiled mattress. The tight, pulling pain that radiated from his right side prohibited any movement at all; in fact, it protested deep breaths and the his stomach's attempts to heave.

Blackness encroaching on his slim hold of consciousness, he couldn't gain the breath needed to expel the contents of his stomach and he choked, unable to clear his throat. The simple motion of moving his head towards the edge of the mattress caused pain to explode down the back of his neck so violently his eyes rolled and his fingers clenched with muscle spasms before everything went black.

"Dean?" Sam slid off the dresser and moved over to the bed. He'd fallen asleep, sitting up against the wall and hadn't heard him until he realized Dean was choking on the vomit. "Easy, sit up, come on," he got on the bed on his knees behind Dean and pulled him upright, giving him a rough shake, raising a hand to rest Dean's head against his shoulder for support.

"Bobby!" he yelled. Dean was limp in his hands, either unable or unwilling to hold his head up. "Dammit Dean, cut me a break." he muttered, dragging Dean down the bed to the bottom of the mattress and pushing him back down onto his side, head hanging over the edge.

Why couldn't Dean come out of sedation like anyone else? No, he had to choke and gag and vomit, would dehydrate and cramp. He'd be dizzy and disoriented every time he woke up for the next couple days, would end up with a headache that would make him cry and aspirin wouldn't relieve. That didn't even account for the head wound he had given himself; his eye was black, nearly swollen shut - hell it might be - and the left side of his face, from his hairline to his jaw, was swollen.

Hell, if Sam wanted to be bothered to turn on a light and look, he'd see his brother probably showed signs of a concussion. He wouldn't be able to walk straight or keep his balance should he try to get up on his own. How to give yourself a concussion Winchester way; slam your head so hard against a wood table, you split it open bad enough to require stitches.

Sam sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes; he hadn't realized Dean had hit the table that hard. Sam knew this would be Dean's reaction upon awaking from sedation but he hadn't expected the added complications of symptoms from a concussion. He was capable of dealing with it but that didn't mean he was happy about it or felt any less guilty over it.

Bobby came in and tossed a towel down until they could change the sheets. Sam let Dean go and got off the bed, going down on his knees next to it. Bobby turned a light on and held a glass he waited for Sam to take.

"Woooo-weeeee!" Bobby whistled. "Lookee that shiner! Think the table won the battle."

"Need you to drink this." Sam took the glass. "Dean, hey." Dean winced, the lip he'd bitten through beginning to bleed. "Hey, hey, come on...don't make me force you…I've had enough of doing that…."

"Ow." he whispered. "Mmmmm, no." he very carefully turned his face the other way, not lifting his head, just gently rolling it on the mattress. "I..don't..want…anything."

"Yeah, I know." Sam's voice was soft with sympathy. "But we get the nausea to go away; I can give you something for your headache."

"I..don't….feel….good….Sammy." his breath hitched and he pushed blood through his teeth with his tongue, too tired and in too much pain to spit.

"I know you don't." Sam sighed. "Dean? Does your head hurt? Or do you just have a headache?"

"Wh..at's...mmmm, god...the..diff...erence?" he mumbled. He swore he could feel blood pulsating behind his eye, trying to push through his skin. "I got...stitches, don't I?" the events of the previous night had yet to come back to him, all he knew was, his skin was crawling. He squirmed around and about until he was on his back, both hands holding his head, convinced if they weren't, his head would explode. "Ow."

"Yeah." Sam pushed his shirt up to see if blood had seeped through the bandage on his right side over the arrow wound. "Need you to drink Dean."

"Hurts, Sam." Dean lowered a hand to his side to feel what Sam was poking around at, Sam gently knocked it away.

"Leave it alone." Sam said. Dean pulled his hand away from Sam, who swallowed hard, not liking Dean refusing his touch. "Dean? Your head? Hey, I need to know how you feel before I decide what you can have to make it feel better."

Dean groaned, feeling his stomach heave, knew another round of vomiting was seconds away. "Clock…" he panted. "Hmm, god, not again…not this soon…." he moved slightly. "Clock….said…..77."

"Forget his head Sam, get him to drink that." Bobby shoved over a trashcan his foot. Kid was seeing double, not good.

"Try ice, I guess." Sam ran a hand through his hair, still kneeling on the floor. "Not like we can give him anything until he stops puking anyway. Dean….hey…come on…drink this."

Dean scowled did't fight when his head was lifted from the mattress and a glass nudged his lips. He parted his teeth to taste, making a face when it wasn't to his liking. Tepid water and baking soda. Yuck.

Sam pretty much knew how he'd spend the day. Coax Dean to drink, wait for him to throw up, doze off for fifteen or twenty minutes and come awake to Dean fighting through dizziness and nausea. Either Sam or Bobby would sit with him to make sure he didn't gag on his tongue or choke on bile. Would listen to him complain about not feeling good, being in pain and do what they could to soothe him through the worst of it.

When he kept water down, they would see if he was still seeing double and when he wasn't, they would give him painkillers. Once he was sleeping from the influence of meds, they would wake him up every hour or so just to make sure that they could and he hadn't slipped into a coma. Tomorrow would be easier, Sam would be able to catch a few hours of sleep and Dean would probably be able to keep down ginger ale and maybe toast.

"Wanna try some 7-Up?" he offered as Dean wearily laid his head back on the mattress. "Dean? No? Okay, I'll get some ice."

Several hours later, Dean was quiet, laying on his back, a towel of loose ice on his head over the stitches. It wouldn't last long, Sam knew that, but by morning Dean would be through the worst of it. Sam's guilt over giving Dean the sedative that was responsible for his current misery would have abated and he could then worry about the arrow wound, the anemia, the stitches becoming infected, and decide if the amount of blood Dean had lost was something to worry over. He'd ignored that fact three weeks ago; he wasn't going to make that same mistake again.

Bobby came up behind Sam, who was standing in the doorway to Dean's room. Arms crossed over his chest, head against the door frame, posture relaxed, Bobby was relieved to see him at ease.

"He asleep?" Bobby whispered.

"He's quiet."

"Keeping water down yet?"

"No, but stays down longer each time."

"He'll get through this Sam, he's strong enough to fight through it on his own."

"I know, I never would have put him through it if I thought he couldn't."

"He has you, if he didn't…" Bobby paused. "If he loses you again….."

"That's not going to happen." Sam vowed vehemently. "I'm back, I'm here and no matter what happens, I'm not leaving him again. Do you think…..?" Sam dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans, hunching his shoulders. "How much blood do you think he lost? It's only been a week since he saw the doctor who said he'd lost too much. You think there's danger from more blood loss? I dunno Bobby, he bled out a lot last night, in the woods, in the car, here…..."

"Head wounds always bleed a lot." Bobby offered, raising a hand to ward Sam off when he opened his mouth to argue. "I know what you meant and there ain't much we can do about it Sam."

"I can give him painkillers, can help him deal with the nausea, can try to make him feel better, I can't give him blood." Sam pushed away from the door frame. "He needs liquids, he needs to eat protein and iron enriched foods and so far, he's not keeping water down. The anemia only makes it worse. His body already isn't replacing the blood as fast as it should. It'll be days before he can eat anything more than toast and soup."

"You have the same blood type he does." Bobby pointed out. Sam jumped, turning around to face Bobby.

"Give him my blood? Are you crazy? I can't do that! No way, Bobby, not a chance, never." he shook his head. "Nuh-uh. No."

"Not saying we have to, saying if we do, you're a match."

"We'll have to find someone else."

"Didn't Cas say you're clean after coming back?" Bobby asked calmly. "And there's nothing to say the blood would affect him like it did you."

"We have no way of knowing that. Cas said he thought I was, it's not a chance we can take Bobby." they both moved into the room when Dean stirred. "I haven't even figured out why the doctor thought he lost so much blood to begin with."

"We know what we need to do to help him Sam, he'll be ok, will just take time and no, it won't be easy and there'll be some times when things get rough. It will be weeks, not days. And we'll figure out what happened to cause the anemia and initial blood loss, I just need some time."

"I know." he picked up the towel of ice with a wince as Dean pushed it aside. It didn't appear the ice had helped the swelling at all. "Ouch." he gave his brother a sympathetic grin eliciting a moan in return.

"Will you stay here?" Bobby asked, waiting to see if Dean was going to try to sit up.

Sam was quiet. His first instinct was to run, to take Dean, load up the car and just drive until he found a place where he felt comfortable and safe. Bobby wouldn't want them to go, would argue if Sam insisted on leaving, throw a fit over Sam taking Dean with him.

"I don't want you to go Sam, I don't want you to take Dean either, I know you want to run but stay here for a bit, ok? At least 'til he's better, what do you say? Huh? Don't take him on the road." Sam had brought Dean home to Bobby twice, had been open and honest with Bobby and now Bobby hoped that Sam was comfortable enough to stay and let him help.

It was best for Dean to remain where he was and Sam knew that. He would give his brother time to recover and would do what he could to make his recovery easier. Their discussion ended when Dean eased over to his left side, hung his head off the mattress and vomited until dry heaves caused his eyes to water.

Right, put him in a car and drive for however long.

Sam nodded with a sigh. This was his fault. He could have done things differently; Bobby had left the decisions up to him. He'd kept Dean from getting medical attention and he'd been the one to give him the sedative. Had he taken his brother to the hospital, he wouldn't be going through any of this.

"Sam?" Bobby questioned. "You ok? Take a break."

"No. I'm ok." he might be ok, but Dean, well, he was dirty and sticky with dried blood and sweat. He needed a bath but there was no way Sam was going to force him into a shower until he could hold his head up on his own. "Dean? Come on, you know the drill, gotta drink."

"Go….a..way."

"You're gonna be fine, you know, day or so and…"

Dean managed to flip him off and pull the pillow over his head, shutting him out. Sam decided he could have a few minutes before having to drink.

"Sam? Go downstairs and get something to eat, take a walk outside then come back in, ok? Take a break, he's fine, I'll keep an eye on him."

Sam bit his lip then nodded. "K."

"He'll be fine Sam, we'll figure out this out."

Sam went downstairs, Dean might be ok this time, but there would always be a next time, and come that time, everything might not turn out oh-so-ok. Sam would have to find a way to deal when that time came, because, this was his life, and that time would certainly come.

***END***


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